


Remembrance

by slipper007



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Dean Winchester Tries, Episode: s12e11 Regarding Dean, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Memory Loss, Mentioned Castiel - Freeform, Mentioned Sam Winchester, implied love confession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:41:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27810913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slipper007/pseuds/slipper007
Summary: “My name is Dean Winchester. Sam is my brother. Uh, Mary Winchester is my mom. And Cast—Casis my best friend.”Dean sighed. He knew this wasn’t going to stop anything, but maybe it would delay it.He had been ready, years ago, to go out with a bang, not that this was much of one, but… he had dared to hope… with the way things had been going, he had finally started to regain the hope that had died long ago. He had hoped for a moment that when his life eventually flashed before his eyes, it would be long. He wanted years more of memories. He wanted to know his mother, he wanted Castiel to stay, he wanted to see Sammy get his happy ending, he wanted to be free… He wanted to live.What do you say when your life disappears before your eyes?You say it again.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 44





	Remembrance

**Author's Note:**

> _This is the way the world ends / Not with a bang but with a whimper._  
>  —T.S. Eliot, "The Hollow Men"

The bathroom was quiet after Sam left. Dean wasn’t sure if that was better or worse: to be left alone to come to terms with your imminent demise, or to be smothered can-do-attitudes and hopeful positivity at the impossible. He could hear Sam and Rowena just outside the bathroom door. From their tones, they were arguing, softly. 

_Arguing about what to do with you._

There was nothing to do. From how Sam had explained it, his only way out, his Hail Mary, was a grimoire that _might_ be in the possession of some witches that _might_ live in town. They _might_ find it in time, they _might_ be able to reverse the curse, and Dean couldn’t help with any of it. It was the eleventh hour, and he was useless.

_“Well, you just told me my whole life story. And I gotta be honest, man, I... I can feel it, slipping out of my head. I mean ganking monsters is one thing. But this...” Dean felt his voice trying to break and covered it with a scoff. “How am I supposed to fight this?”_

_“You say it again, Dean.”_

It was worth a shot.

“Ahh. Okay.” He cleared his throat and looked himself in the eyes, blocking out the bickering in the motel room. “My name is Dean Winchester. Sam is my brother. Uh, Mary Winchester is my mom. And Cast— _Cas_ is my best friend.”

Dean sighed. He knew this wasn’t going to stop anything, but maybe it would delay it.

He had been ready, years ago, to go out with a bang, not that this was much of one, but… he had dared to hope… with the way things had been going, he had finally started to regain the hope that had died long ago. He had hoped for a moment that when his life eventually flashed before his eyes, it would be long. He wanted years more of memories. He wanted to know his mother, he wanted Castiel to stay, he wanted to see Sammy get his happy ending, he wanted to be free… He wanted to live.

What do you say when your life disappears before your eyes?

_You say it again._

“My name is Dean Wi—Winchester.”

He stared expectantly at himself in the mirror, waiting for the rest of the words to come back to him. They didn’t.

 _It’s okay,_ he told himself. _Just say it again._

“My name—My name is...”

His heart started beating hard. He had just known, where were the words? 

_Say it again._

“My... My name is— is...” _Again_. “My… My…”

He stared at his reflection, the fear in his eyes. Who was he? What was his life’s story? What did he care about? Who did he love?

“I don’t know.”

He broke away from the mirror and felt hot tears fall. He knew nothing; everything except the outright terror at losing himself had abandoned him.

Wait, no, he knew one more thing.

A call. He needed to make a call.

Dean scrambled for his… what was it called. He spent a moment to be grateful he didn’t have a passcode on it, or else he wouldn’t be able to…

Dean’s panic spiked. What had he wanted to do? It was just… _gone_. The man in the mirror spooked him for a moment before he remembered that was him. Who was he? What was his name? What was in his hand?

A call! He needed to call….

He went through his contacts a few times before he found the right one. He hoped it was right. It was familiar at a time when everything was becoming unrecognizable. Dean repeated the name over and over like a prayer with every unanswered ring. Something had made him stop on this one. Maybe it was muscle memory or genuine remembrance, he didn’t know.  
There were so many things he didn’t know and so many things he still needed to say, and they were all slipping out of his mind, he could _feel them disappearing_ —

_“This is my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail.”_

“Cas, I—”

What had he wanted to say? It was _gone_. What had been there? It was important, he needed to say it now. Something bad was going to happen to him, he could feel the dread building in his gut, even if he didn’t know why. Maybe it had already happened.

“Cas—”

The call ended and the line went dead.

Dean repeated the name, focusing on how his lips curled around the syllable as he called again.

_“This is my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail.”_

“C—” 

What had the name been? His phone said “Castiel” but that wasn’t right. He could feel, deep down, that it wasn’t right. What was right, then?

“Castiel,” he tried, stumbling over the name. It was familiar; his mouth knew what to say, but his brain rejected it. He repeated it until it sounded like nonsense.

What had he been doing?

His eyes hovered over the phone as it automatically hung up again and he pressed a green button. Maybe if he did it again, he would remember whatever he had forgotten.

_“This is my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail.”_

Dean’s hands turned into claws in his hair, raking his scalp as his vision swam. He _knew_ that voice, knew it so deeply and intrinsically that he felt its absence ache in his chest. What was he missing? _Who_ was he missing? The name was on the tip of his tongue, begging to be said, but it was gone, maybe forever.

 _What had he been doing?_ It was gone, gone, gone. He could feel himself forgetting that he had even been doing something already. Tears spilled over as he succumbed to the overwhelming distress of feeling himself vanish.

_What was happening to him?_

After a few minutes, Dean looked to the tears in the sink, confused. Were they his? His face was damp, and his eyes hurt, so maybe they were.

Why was he so upset?

He washed the tears away, slid his phone into his pocket, and left the room.


End file.
